


A Little Understanding

by StarBurnedOut



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-08 16:53:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15247683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarBurnedOut/pseuds/StarBurnedOut
Summary: A collection of short pieces featuring little snippets of various Teen Wolf relationships, primarily friendships.1 - Mine and Yours (Scott/Lydia friendship)2 - In the Dark (Scott/Lydia friendship)3 - Celebrating (Scott/Malia friendship)





	1. Mine and Yours

**Author's Note:**

> While I try to figure out what the fuck I'm doing with Simplicity, I've decided to start posting some of the snippets I've written over the last nine months or so. Some of them were cut from other stories. Some were just scenes I wrote that never evolved into anything else. Nothing too deep, just little pieces I hope some of you might get a little entertainment out of.  
> -  
> The first is a bit I wrote intending to add to a story I've since scrapped. The friendship between Scott and Lydia has always fascinated me, and I've played around a bit with how they fit into each other's lives, and the roles they play within the pack. Since it always went mostly unspoken in the show, I feel there's some real opportunity to put it into words. This is one of several scenes I've written where I explore their relationship a little. It's not much, but I hope you enjoy it!

"You know I love you, right?"

Across the room, Lydia froze, then slowly turned toward him, a confused smile on her face as their eyes met. Scott just looked back, expression set, as serious as he'd ever been. He needed her to know, to understand what he was saying. After everything, after the loss, the pain, the turbulence of the last few days, he needed her to know what she meant to him.

"Okay," she said slowly. "I don't—"

"Stiles is my best friend," he stated, cutting her off. "He's my brother, he's family. Malia is... she's my future. She's the reason I can still smile when things get so dark, so heavy I think nothing will ever get bright again. I love them both more than I can put into words, more than they'll probably ever really understand." Slowly, he stood, grimacing at the way the movement pulled at his torn side, and stepped toward her. "But I love you too. You're not lesser than either of them. There's no..." He trailed off, searching for the words. "It's not _my_ pack. It's _our_ pack. Mine and yours."

She frowned at that, even as her hands came up, settling on his waist as he stopped in front of her, still slightly unsteady on his feet. "Scott, I'm not—"

"You are," he said firmly, looking down into her eyes. "If I died tomorrow, what do you think would happen? Liam would try to take charge, but he's not there yet. Stiles would be a wreck. Malia would be strong, but she doesn't want that responsibility, that burden. No, it would be you. You'd hold it together. They'd all listen to you. You might not be a werewolf, an Alpha, but this pack is as much yours as it is mine." Sighing, he reached out and gently clasped his hands around her arms. "Listen, I just—I want you to know that no matter what, you're my friend and I love you. Stiles is my partner in crime. Malia is my partner in love, in battle. But you're my partner in this life, in this... crazy story we ended up in. I couldn't imagine being here right now without you. I just _need_ you to know that."

For a second, they just stood there, looking at each other. Then Lydia sniffed loudly, a little flush coming to her cheeks as tears started to drip from her eyes. She took a single shuddering breath and suddenly her arms were around him, her face buried in his chest. He winced slightly at the pain of her embrace, but wasn't about to tell her to stop, his own arms going around her, holding her close.

"I love you too," she murmured, as he gently stroked her hair. "I wish you'd picked a better example though. Scott, if anything happened to you..."

He huffed out a little amused breath. "You'd be fine. You'd grieve me, you'd rage against who ever took me out. But you'd be fine. You're strong, Lydia, stronger than me. You can come back from anything."

Pulling back a little, she looked up at him, her lips quirked up in a little smile. "Oh, I'm not denying that. I just... maybe don't talk about you dying. God, Stiles would be inconsolable."

He snorted. "Yeah, he really would." They shared a grin, before he took a breath and let out a heavy sigh. "Did you ever think this is how things would go? I mean, three years ago, we were all completely different people. I was a wannabe athlete with no clue what I was doing, where I was going. Stiles was... well, he's still kind of an idiot, but he's definitely gotten better. Malia was a freaking coyote. And you were..."

"I was a bitch," she said, when he trailed off, drawing a sheepish smile from him. "I own it, Scott. I don't pretend to like how I was, but it _was_ me. I'm not ashamed. I wish I'd been a little more accepting of people, like you, like Stiles, but I cared about different things then. And no," she added, smiling and shaking her head, "I wouldn't have predicted this. Somehow, through all the pain and the loss and the violence, these have been the best years of my life."

Scott let out a little burst of laughter at that, pulling her tight to him. "Mine too. Mine too."

They stayed there together for a minute, the warmth of friendship shared between them, happy to take time to just appreciate a relationship that was going to last a lifetime.  After a moment, he felt her shift slightly, her hands finding his as she pulled away from him a little, avoiding his injured side. Looking up at him, she narrowed her eyes and frowned.

"You got blood all over my shirt."

His attempt to look contrite lasted about two second. Then his face started to twitch, a second before a low chuckle spilled out. As soon as he broke, she did too, her lips quirking up in a tiny smile, mischief sparkling in her eyes.  

"Sorry?" he offered halfheartedly through his laughter.

She rolled her eyes. "Sure you are." Grinning, he leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to her forehead. Her hands squeezed his in response, as a wide grin spread across her face. "Go on," she said, nodding toward the stairs. "I'm gonna wait here for Stiles. You go try to get some sleep, let that heal."

"That... that sounds really good," he admitted, stifling the sudden yawn her words brought on. Slowly, he let go of her and took a step back, ignoring the way his wounded side twinged as he turned toward the door. "Malia's probably wondering where I am anyway. I'm a little surprised she hasn't already come down, actually."

"Oh, no problem, then." Her grin turned wicked. "Just tell her you were busy confessing your love for another woman."

Shaking his head, he headed for the stairs, the sound of her teasing laughter following him from the room.


	2. In the Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another one for the Scott and Lydia friendship pile. And another clipped from a story that just never turned into anything. This one's more focused on their respective relationships with others, but also how their closeness to each other gives them both somebody they can talk to about things they're reluctant to otherwise admit. It didn't have an ending, originally, so if it feels a little abrupt, that's why. Again, there's not a whole lot to it, but I thought it stood well enough on its own to merit posting. Hope you enjoy it!

"I don't like this, Scott."

Lydia was sitting at the head of her bed, propped up by a mass of pillows and the headboard. She was hugging herself tightly, phone clutched in one hand. Next to her, Scott was mirroring her position, his own hands folded in his laps, staring at the muted television on top of the dresser across the room. If pressed he wouldn't even have been able to name what he was watching, his mind elsewhere. He'd barely moved in half an hour, only the sound of her voice finally drawing him back to reality.

"Me neither," he said softly, face pensive as he looked at her. "I'm scared for our friends, I'm scared for us. I wish..." Shaking his head, he let a frustrated growl reverberate up his throat. "I wish we didn't have to deal with this. But we do. We've gotta make the best of it."

For a second, she just stared at him, eyes wide, fear and anger and frustration burning bright in their depths. Then, letting out a little sniffle, she leaned  into him, getting as close as she could. He instinctively hooked an arm over her shoulders, pulling her into his side, hoping physical comfort could do for her what words hadn't. He could feel her shivering, the fear, the emotion she'd been bottling up all day, hiding away so she could look strong for everybody finally burst free. She was safe with him. She didn't have to pretend. And neither did he.

"Can I tell you something?" she asked softly, voice barely more than a whisper, choked with some emotion he couldn't quite identify.

"Of course."

"I'm not really scared for myself," she admitted, slowly, haltingly, almost like she was embarrassed to confess it. Her hand fisted in the front of his shirt as she pressed herself closer, desperate for human contact. "I know what's out there, how badly it wants me dead, but I'm not worried. I trust you, I trust everybody to help me get through it." He smiled at that, rubbing her shoulder and patting it softly. "But I'm scared, _terrified_ that something will happen to..." She paused, taking a deep, shuddering breath, before continuing in a harsh whisper, " _Stiles_."

And there it was. Finally, after week, after months, after _years_. An admission, a verbal acknowledgement that despite all odds, despite how mismatched they'd been, Lydia Martin liked Stiles. Scott couldn't help but grin, shaking his head as memories of hours spent listening to his best friend pine after her flashed through his mind.

"I'm afraid for him too," he said, giving her a little squeeze. "But he'll be fine. Malia's with him, and you know she'd never let anything hurt him."

"I know. But I still wish he was here." She trailed off, falling silent for a second, and he felt her shift nervously. "Scott..." Her voice was different, strained, choked. "I think I love him."

He wasn't sure what to say to that. It was a huge moment, he knew, and  he could feel the gravity of it. The words had fallen from her lips like some terrible secret, like something massive she didn't want to admit but just couldn't hold in any long. In the back of his mind, a part of him was touched, pleased to know she trusted him enough, was comfortable enough to confess to him. But most of him was racing a mile a minute, trying to think of the right words to say, to allay her pain, to make things all right.

"Hey, look at me." Turning his head, he looked down until her head slowly tilted back, her eyes meeting his, red-rimmed but dry. "Stiles is gonna be fine. Malia will have him here by morning, even if she has to fight through a hundred people to do it. You know that. He'll be here, safe and sound. Then you can tell him you love him, and he can say it back to you, and everything can be fine."

At least for a little while, he didn't add. He didn't need to say it. She was well aware. But for now, for then, maybe they could push it aside, pretend everything really was all right.

She smiled, just a slight upturning of her lips, but just that simple change lit up her whole face. "Yeah, that would be... that would be nice." Then she paused and grinned. "And then maybe you could stop watching Malia like a lovesick puppy and actually tell her how you feel."

Whatever Scott was expecting, it wasn't that. He felt his heart take off in his chest, beating like a jackhammer as his whole body went rigid. He'd tried so hard to hide his developing feelings for their friend, burying them deep inside, knowing it would be weird if he said anything, how badly it could mess with their friendship, with the dynamics of the pack. He fought beside her, watched her move, how strong she was, how loyal, and he bit back the urge to kiss her, to touch her, to make her his. He'd masked his feelings with friendship, because he'd decided that was enough. And he'd thought he'd been successful.

"I—what? I don't..." He chuckled nervously. "I don't _love_ Malia! I mean, I do, of course I do, but as a friend. Like I love you or Stiles. Definitely not—I'm not in love with her or anything. That's just... why would you—" The words abruptly died in his throat, as he watched her expression go from knowing, to mildly amused, to about to crack up completely. When she just arched an eyebrow in challenge, her lips twitching, he sighed heavily and let his head bang back against the headboard. "How long have you known?"

"Weeks," she replied softly. "It took me awhile, but I saw you watching her enough times when you thought she wasn't looking that it all finally came together. And once I knew, it was _really_ obvious. Scott, I don't want to burst your bubble or anything, but you're not exactly the most subtle guy out there."

"I thought I was," he muttered, drawing a little amused huff from her. For a second, he just stared up at the ceiling, unsure of what to say, then slowly looked down at her and raised an eyebrow. "What did I do?"

"It was a lot of small stuff, honestly. The big tip-off was the food. I've seen you slap Stiles' hand away from your plate more times than I can count. But you don't even react when Malia does it anymore. And when she walks into the room, you... I don't know. It's hard to describe, but your whole... everything _shifts_. You sort of orient yourself to her." She paused, her smile softening as he let out a groan and hung his head. "Stop it. It's sweet."

He snorted. "Yeah, that's me. Sweet."  

He was quiet for a moment then, his thoughts on Malia, on all the things he'd wanted to tell her, on all the things he'd kept locked inside. He hadn't wanted to complicate things. That was what he'd told himself, the reason he repeated every time he saw her face and felt that ache deep in his gut. Their lives were already difficult enough, no need to muddy the waters even more. Except now, sitting there, his reason felt a lot more like an excuse. An excuse not to put himself out there. An excuse he regretted because she was out there now without him and all he had was the night and his thoughts.

And Lydia, he reminded himself, when she sighed heavily and shifted, the bed creaking beneath her. "What a pair we make, huh?" he asked softly, nudging her shoulder and flashing her a tired smile.

She huffed out a little breath, lips narrowing into a tight smile. "No kidding. People out there want us dead, and here we are, worried about our love lives."

"Well, in our defense, can you remember the last time somebody _wasn't_ trying to kill us?" When she just pursed her lips and shook her head, his face split in a wry grin. "I rest my case."

"Good point." For a second, she mirrored his expression, before her look turned hard, determined. "But you're right. Everything's gonna be fine. It's all gonna work out." Pulling back slightly, she looked at him, jaw set, eyes locked on his, and he could see the fire burning in their depths, the desire to believe. "We'll figure this out. We'll figure it all out." Then, softer, but no less resolute, "Tomorrow, we'll tell them."

Slowly, he nodded, holding her gaze, unblinking, and he couldn't help but feel like they were sealing some kind of pact. "We will. Tomorrow." And as her hand found his, squeezing tight, supportive, he smiled. One way or another, the morning would bring a new day. And he couldn't wait.


	3. Celebrating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little Scott/Malia friendship, or pre-romance, if you prefer, with a little family drama thrown in. Fun fact, if you've read my story 'Wait", this was originally part of the first chapter of the story that began as. The dead guy mentioned in the first chapter of that was Scott's dad in the first draft. I had to pretty heavily edit that to make something of it, but this was all originally supposed to be part of the same story. Again, if the end or beginning feel a little abrupt, it's because both were added in after the fact. What I originally had there relied on this being part of a bigger story. Anyway, hope you enjoy it!

As he watched her dig into a piece of cheesecake, Scott couldn't help but grin at the way Malia's face lit up. "Oh my God!" Meeting his gaze over the table, she gestured emphatically at her plate with her fork. "This is amazing!"

"Right? I told you, didn't I?"

She took another mouthful, taking a moment to savour it, then nodded. "You did. Remind me not to doubt your food recommendations in the future." Pausing, she took a look around the interior of the small diner they were sitting in. "How have I never been here before?"

Scott shrugged. "I don't know. It's not really a well-known place. But I've been coming here since I was a kid. I had a couple birthday dinners here, and my mom would bring me whenever we were celebrating something or had a bit of extra money." His smile turned nostalgic as his eyes traced over the familiar tables and faded walls. "Lots of good memories here."

That was why there were there, to celebrate. While it wasn't official yet, Malia had cheerfully informed him the previous day she'd done enough in summer school to guarantee she was going to pass, to graduate. As long as she showed up the rest of the way, there was no way she could mess it up. Proud of her, he'd offered to buy her dinner, for the effort she'd put into studying and the work he'd done to keep her focused all summer. He'd been her primary study buddy, as Lydia and Stiles took some time to focus on their own relationship, and they'd grown close, so it felt good to see her succeed.

"Well," she said, breaking into his thoughts, "we're definitely coming back. Do you think they deliver? 'Cause I'm pretty sure I could eat this every day."

He chuckled and shrugged. "I don't know. You can ask when we—"

 “Hey,” Malia interjected, brow furrowing as she stared at a point somewhere over his shoulder. “Isn’t that your dad?”

Eyes wide, Scott twisted in his seat, following her line of sight, and sure enough there he was. His dad was sitting across the restaurant, near the wall, alone at a table. He had a fork in one hand, but his plate was apparently forgotten as he read through some papers in his free hand.

“What the hell?” he muttered.

Other than a few phone calls, he hadn’t seen his father in over a year. The elder McCall had never been particularly forthcoming in regards to his own activities, but last time they’d spoken, a couple days after graduation, he’d mentioned something about working a case in San Jose. And now here he was, sitting at a steakhouse in Beacon Hills.

Turning back to Malia, he jerked his thumb back towards his dad and said, “Do you mind if I—”

“Go ahead.” She waved him on with one hand, holding up her fork with the other. “I’m good here.”

Shooting her a grateful smile, he rose to his feet and made his way across the floor to where his father was sitting. As he approached, he wasn’t sure if he should be happy to see him again, or pissed he hadn’t called to let him know he was in town. It was exactly that kind of thing, that lack of communication that made it so hard for him to try and put some effort into fixing the strained relationship with the man. With that in mind, he made the quick decision to play it cool, for now. It couldn’t hurt to start things off on the right foot this time.

“Dad.”

He couldn’t help but smirk a little as his father nearly jumped out of his seat. His knees hit the table hard, bouncing it up off the floor as Scott slid into the chair across from him.

“Jesus, Scott,” he said, grimacing as he reached down to rub his knee. “What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here? What are _you_ doing here?”

“Eating.”

“Not here." He rolled his eyes and gesturing around the restaurant. “ _Here_. Beacon Hills. I thought you were in San Jose?”

And why didn’t you call? The question remained silent, unasked, but it hung heavy in the air between them regardless. There was something in his dad’s eyes, something small, but clear all the same that told him the older man could feel it too.

Sighing, his dad leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. “I was, but that case wrapped up, and I decided to take some time off. I know you’re heading off to college in the fall, so I thought I’d come spend some time in Beacon Hills, try to be a dad again.” His mouth twisted into a rueful little smile. “I haven’t done nearly enough of that, and I can never get that time back, but I don’t think it’s too late. Or I hope not, anyway.”

Scott felt a little lance of anger shoot through him then, even as a little bit of hope flared to life. He wanted to believe him. He wanted to think the man had finally reached a point in his life where establishing a relationship with his only child was the most important thing. But after years of abandonment, it wasn’t something he could just accept as fact, not without some proof, some effort. He’d been here all along. He hadn’t been hiding. His father had made the choice to stay away, to not try, and he’d made it repeatedly. He couldn’t just come back, say the words, and expect their past to be erased.

If his father noticed the way his fingers suddenly clenched into fists on the table, he said nothing. Instead, he just waited silently for a response, watching as Scott tried to sort through his feelings and figure out what to say.

“You’re going to be in town for awhile?” he finally asked, struggling to keep his anger contained as he met his dad’s gaze.

“Yes. As long as I need to be.”

Scott nodded, pursing his lips, considering. “Okay. Call me tomorrow or something. We’ll talk.”

As he spoke, he rose to his feet, eager to get away. Control wasn’t something he struggled with nearly as much these days, but in that moment, he could feel it slipping, years of anger and resentment fighting to break free. It was the arrogance, the ego of his dad to think he could just come back into his life now. After he had some time to think about it, process it, Scott thought he’d be okay with it, but not right now, with it staring him in the face. It was just too much.

Without another word, he turned his back and walked away, teeth clenched, fingers flexing into fists. Malia looked up as he approached their table, and her expression darkened, immediately picking up on his bad mood. Even as he reclaimed his seat, she was signalling to the waiter, asking for the check. Scott paid it without speaking, motions jerky, robotic, then followed her out of the restaurant, never looking back at the dark corner where his dad was seated.

“Didn’t go well?” Malia asked softly once they were outside and around the corner, in the parking lot.

“No,” Scott bit out, turning to lean against the rough exterior of the building. He pressed his forehead against cool brick and took a couple deep, calming breaths. Or they were supposed to be calming. He didn’t feel much different. But his only other option was punching the wall, and while it might feel good in the moment, he’d only have a broken, bloody hand to show for it soon enough. So he took a few more deep breaths and tried to let the anger go.

“Hey.” He felt Malia move closer a second before her hand fell on his shoulder. “You want me to go back in there and kick his ass?”

He couldn’t stop the snort of amusement that escaped him at that. Turning around, he leaned back against the wall and let out a heavy sigh as he met her gaze. “It’s tempting. That guy...” He trailed off, a low growl building in his throat. “He pisses me off so much sometimes, just the way he acts, the things he says. He...” He shook his head, then sighed. "Don't worry about it. It's not your problem."

"Hey," she said, lowering her voice a little as she stepped closer. "It kinda is my problem, Scott. I'm your friend, and I don't like seeing you all... upset like this. And I don't know what I can do about that, but I wanna do something." Her expression was serious, maybe the most serious he'd ever seen from her, and he had to swallow around the lump that suddenly formed in his throat at the sight. "If talking it out helps, I'm here to listen."

For a second, he was silent, just looking at her, trying to process the surge of warmth he felt at the sincerity in her voice, written on her face. "Thanks," he finally managed to get out, flashing her a small smile. "I, uh, I might take you up on that. Not now, but, y'know, later."

"Whenever you want," she replied, voice and gaze never wavering. Then she grinned. "I mean, if anybody knows what it's like having to deal with really shitty parents, it's me."

He mirrored her grin. "Yeah, I guess you do." On impulse, he reached her for hand, grasping it tight and squeezing softly. "Thanks, Malia. Really."

Her eyes briefly flashed down to their hands, then back to his. "Sure," she said, voice uncharacteristically soft as she nodded.

Abruptly realised he'd been tracing his thumb over her knuckles, Scott dropped her hand and cleared his throat, ignoring the amusement that briefly flashed across her face. "So, I guess I should apologize, huh?" Her brow furrowed. "This was supposed to be your night, and I think I kind of ruined it."

 “Nah, it was fun. That cheesecake was _great_.”

Again, he snorted, amazed as ever by her ability to just let things roll off her. Catching her eye, he grinned, drawing an answering smile from her as he straightened up. “Well, it’s still early. What do you wanna do now?”

“You up for some movies?”

It was a routine they’d fallen into over the summer. Most nights were spent studying, but at least twice a week, they had a night where they just watched movies, finding a shared interest in old horror flicks and over-the-top action pieces from the eighties and nineties. Just hours where they could sit and laugh and make fun of the cheesy effects and ridiculous stunts, and that was all that mattered. Just two friends having a good time, with none of the supernatural baggage or issues either carried with them. It was the best part of his week. Though lately he'd been wondering how much of what he enjoyed about it was the activity itself, or the person he was with. But that was a thought for another time.

"All right," he said as he led the way over to his bike and clambered on. "But I get to pick this time," he teased, shooting her a wink over his shoulder as she climbed on behind him.

"Fat chance. Didn't you say this was my night?" He grunted an acknowledgement as she wrapped her arms around him. "That means I get to choose. Now," she said loudly, giving him a not-so-gentle squeeze when he grinned and opened his mouth to respond. "No arguments. Let's go."


End file.
